


Leave with Every Piece

by Capriccio



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Boss/Employee Relationship, Dirty Talk, Guilt, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 17:52:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capriccio/pseuds/Capriccio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for eledhwenlin’s prompt: <i>Arthur and Merlin work in a software company, Arthur's the boss and Merlin's the lowly tech support guy.</i> It’s easier to fight, to fall into their pattern, than to sort out the mess they’ve made of each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave with Every Piece

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eledhwenlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eledhwenlin/gifts).



> Happy Holidays, eledhwenlin! ♥ I'm so glad I was able to pinch-hit for you! A thousand thanks to significantowl for the beta and all the help and support. \o/ Any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Title taken from ADELE's "Rolling in the Deep".

Arthur wakes up first. He keeps his eyes closed, trying to drag his awareness back under the blanket of sleep. It never works.

Merlin’s breathing is deep and even in the room’s silence. Arthur opens his eyes, turning his head to the side to watch Merlin’s face beside his, soft and relaxed in sleep.

Arthur can’t stay in bed a minute more. He pushes away the bedcovers and heads silently to the bathroom to shower. He turns the water as hot as he can stand it, scrubbing every inch of his skin. When he’s through, he doesn’t bother wiping away the steam clouding the mirror to look at his reflection.

Merlin is still sleeping when Arthur steps out of the bathroom, wrapping a towel around his waist. Arthur’s stomach clenches as he methodically gathers up Merlin’s clothing from the night before. He tosses the bundle onto the bed and across Merlin’s legs that are still tangled in the bedsheets. Merlin wakes with a jolt, blinking sleep from his eyes. He looks around confusedly for a moment, and his face falls into a slight frown when he sees Arthur staring at him.

“You’ll be late for work,” Arthur says quietly.

A look of hurt flashes across Merlin’s face before his mouth sets into a thin line. He gets up from the bed. “I’ll be five minutes,” he says, tone clipped, and roughly shoulders Arthur aside on his way to the shower.

Arthur stands for a moment in his bedroom, looking at the rumpled bed. The sound of Merlin running the shower pushes him into movement. Stripping the bed of the last night’s sheets, Arthur tosses them in the hamper. He makes the bed up with fresh ones, tucking the corners in tightly and fluffing the pillows until the bed looks pristine. He walks to his wardrobe, pulling on the first thing his fingers touch, and then heads to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

Arthur looks up from his cup of tea and plate of toast ten minutes later to catch a whirlwind glimpse of Merlin as he wrenches open the front door to the flat, slamming it loudly on his way out. He doesn’t spare Arthur a glance.

Breathing out heavily, Arthur slowly gets up from the table. He dumps the second cup of tea down the drain and scrapes the other two pieces of toast into the bin before heading back to his bedroom to get dressed properly for work.

***

Arthur steps into the office, every hair in place and every wrinkle in his clothing smoothed out, conscious of the fact that he looks immaculate in his suit and tie. As usual, he’s the first one in; he follows his father’s example in that much.

Leon arrives next, two coffees in one hand and a sheaf of paper in the other. “Morgana wants an update on the Essetir takeover again tomorrow afternoon,” he says without preamble, stepping inside Arthur’s office and sliding him a coffee. “She sent these by courier,” Leon continues, handing over the papers.

Arthur takes the coffee gratefully, shaking his head wordlessly as he glances over the papers. He thanks his lucky stars that Uther saw fit to assign them separate satellite offices—he shudders to think how he and Morgana would operate in the same town, let alone same building. “Thank you,” he says. Leon nods at him and steps outside to sit down at his desk.

A few minutes later, through his perusal of Morgana’s latest demands, Arthur hears Elena loudly greeting Leon well before he catches sight of her. He puts down his papers and gets up to walk to his office door, arranging himself casually in the doorway.

“Good morning, Elena. How was dinner with your father last night?” Arthur asks. He gave Elena his secret recipe for scalloped potatoes last week, and hopes they turned out well.

“Morning, Boss! It went lovely. I dropped the roast on the kitchen floor and had to rinse it off, but my father said it was still the best he’d ever tasted. And thank you ever so much for the recipe for the potatoes, they were a smashing success. He had thirds of those,” Elena says, beaming at Arthur. “And he told me to tell you to send Uther his regards. I told _him_ that I was lucky to be working for you, and not Uther, but didn’t agree with me on that, so I didn’t speak to him for two full minutes. Did I ever mention you’re my favourite boss?” Elena dips a clumsy curtsey, wobbling dangerously before straightening up and fairly bouncing to her desk.

Arthur manages a smile for her actions, if not for her words.

Gwen walks in just at that moment, so Arthur turns to her, still smiling. “How are you, Guinevere? Did you have a good night?”

“Good,” Gwen says, her words a bit muffled as she unwinds the scarf from around her neck and sets her things down at her desk. “Didn’t do too much last night, though. Ran some errands, went for a walk. Nothing special.” She shrugs. “How was your night?”

Arthur feels his smile stiffen. “Fine,” he says, and doesn’t elaborate. He tries to shake Merlin from his thoughts. “Thank you for asking,” he continues instead. Gwen smiles at him before ducking her head shyly and sitting down at her desk across from Elena’s.

Arthur returns to his desk, glancing at the clock every so often as the knot in his stomach grows tighter. Half an hour later, Arthur finally spots Merlin by the water cooler, his voice rising and falling in animated conversation. A part of him wonders how Merlin is always able to appear and disappear at the office without his knowing. Arthur hangs back a moment, understanding almost nothing of the technobabble he can hear Merlin jabbering about, but Leon is nodding enthusiastically.

“Emrys,” Arthur says, approaching them. It surprises him how much it costs him to keep his voice cool and detached. He winces inwardly at the way he sounds, hating himself for it.

Merlin pauses from his conversation with Leon, his hands in mid-air as he makes a point, and inclines his head with the slightest trace of mockery. “Pendragon,” he returns.

“You’re late,” Arthur says. Irritation at himself and at Merlin chafes at him; he doesn’t like himself for it, either, but it has to be said.

“I was held up this morning.” Merlin meets his gaze levelly.

Arthur bites back a retort. Taking a deep breath, he says as calmly as he can manage, “I need you on network maintenance this morning.”

“Yeah, all right,” Merlin says, breaking off his conversation abruptly. Leon looks back and forth between them almost comically. Merlin heads back to his desk, and with little effort manages to cut Arthur to the bone. Arthur is left struggling with the gnawing thought that it’s simultaneously so much harder and easier to deal with Merlin during the day.

***

Arthur rubs at his temples and shuts off his monitor for the night. He slings his jacket and briefcase over his shoulder and locks his office door with one hand, loosening his tie with the other. It’s quiet, almost everyone has already left, and yet Arthur’s not at all surprised to hear furious typing on a keyboard. Arthur forces himself to walk casually over to Merlin’s cubicle where Merlin’s fingers fly over the keys, his eyes glazed over in concentration. He doesn’t even look up when Arthur stops in front of him.

“Come on, Emrys, time to call it a night,” Arthur says.

Merlin looks up briefly from his screen, then apparently decides it’s not worth his time to answer. He shoots Arthur a dirty look and goes back to his typing. Arthur is partly relieved and partly dismayed that Merlin is choosing to ignore him.

“I’ll get us dinner, all right?” Arthur says.

Arthur sees Merlin’s jaw stiffen as he bites his lip, and Arthur knows exactly how that feels: hating himself for wanting something so much.

“Fine,” Merlin says, just the one word, and he reaches for his coat.

It’s a noisy pub they go to, suiting Arthur just fine as he isn’t in the mood for conversation tonight. Neither is Merlin, apparently, his back stiff and unnatural. He’s distracted, looking at his fish and chips, at the other patrons of the pub, at anywhere but Arthur. Arthur would take offence if he weren’t used to it. He racks his brain for something to talk about—technology is off limits by unspoken agreement—and comes up short.

“Finished yet?” Arthur asks finally, grasping at the most mundane thing at hand. He toys with the last of his chips. He’s taken them to better restaurants than this before, but this pub is one where Merlin seems to know the menu by heart and enjoy the live music nights.

Merlin’s head snaps around. “Yeah, I’m done,” he says, and gets up from the table so quickly that Arthur doesn’t even have time to blink before Merlin leaves the pub. Arthur throws down several notes to pay for the meal and chases after Merlin.

When Arthur catches up to him, Merlin is standing by the side of Arthur’s car, staring at the windows. Arthur pauses next to Merlin on his way to the driver’s seat, but Merlin doesn’t move.

“Ready?” Arthur asks cautiously. His car keys jangle in his palm along with his nerves.

“Take me home,” Merlin says. He doesn’t make a move to open the passenger door.

Arthur looks at him, raising an eyebrow. “That was the idea, yes.”

“No, I mean _my_ home.” Merlin raises his head to look at Arthur over the top of the car, his eyes glinting in the streetlight.

Arthur stares at him. He can’t think of anything to say.

Merlin stares back at him for a moment and laughs without humour. “You don’t even know where I live, do you? You don’t know anything about me,” he says bitterly.

Arthur tries not to let Merlin see him flinch. He tries to cover it with his words. “I know you like the grotty food at that pub, and that you think that awful cover band with the animal in their name is the going to make it big.”

Something uncertain flickers across Merlin’s face. Merlin doesn’t respond, and Arthur can see the puffs of his breath in the cold air. Merlin silently pushes away from the car and starts walking away.

“Hey!” Arthur says, and jogs to catch up. He grabs Merlin’s shoulder.

“Don’t touch me,” Merlin says. He bites the words out, yanking his arm away.

“What, yesterday was good enough for you but not today?”

The words stop them both and they stare at each other, appalled. Before Arthur can open his mouth to apologise, Merlin looks him up and down and shakes his head. He continues walking away.

Arthur lets him go. He walks back to his car and starts the engine, turning up the heat. It’s chilly outside, and he’s glad he opted for the seat warmers. He pulls away from the kerb, heading for his flat. He catches himself thinking about the last night he spent alone in his flat, but he’s unable to manage it. He fiddles with the radio, flipping through station after station to distract himself.

In the end, he makes it five blocks before he turns the car around. He drives the streets slowly, and finally sees Merlin walking aimlessly on the street, arms huddled around himself for warmth. Arthur pulls up beside him and opens the passenger door.

Merlin gets in without a word. They drive to Arthur’s flat in silence.

***

Arthur unlocks his front door, fumbling with the keys as Merlin brushes past him like he did that morning. Merlin deposits himself on the couch, stretching his feet out on the coffee table.

Arthur ignores him, instead retreating to the safety of the kitchen. They’re not at the office anymore, the barriers long gone, so Arthur pours them both a drink. Merlin ignores his, and the tumblers sit untouched on his coffee table, moisture gathering on the outside of the glass, the ice cubes clinking as they melt.

“Why do I even bother?” Merlin asks underneath his breath, breaking the silence.

The air between them shifts, and the anger that’s been building up inside Arthur throughout the day flares up. “That’s right, Emrys, I’d like to know, too. Why do you bother?” he asks.

“Fuck you,” Merlin says, his eyes hot with rage. “Just _fuck you_. You want to know why? I just told you. That’s all you are, Pendragon: a good fuck.”

It’s easier to fight, to fall into their pattern, than to sort out the mess they’ve made of each other. Arthur lunges across the sofa, grabbing a fistful of Merlin’s shirt. He presses their mouths together, feeling Merlin kiss him roughly back, fighting each other the best way they know how.

“This is the last time,” Merlin says, wresting off his shirt, and Arthur has to force his hands to unclench from the fabric to let him do it.

“The hell it is. You said it yourself: I’m a good fuck. You think you can get it this good anywhere else?” Arthur asks. He bites at Merlin’s bare shoulder hard enough to leave a mark.

“Must have had a lot of practise kicking people out of bed to get that good,” Merlin says sneeringly. “Might as well get a revolving door installed in your flat and be done with it.” Merlin’s fingers are busy undoing his trousers, kicking his long legs to stumble out of them, his hands on Arthur’s hips to guide them to the bed.

Arthur rolls them over and pins Merlin underneath him. “Did you even consider, Emrys, that the reason why I kick you out of bed is because the other option is to tie you to it?”

Merlin’s breath hitches and his eyes narrow dangerously.

“Because I would. I'd tie you to the bed so that no one but me could ever fuck you again. Is that what you want?” Arthur asks. He pins Merlin’s wrists above his head lightly, adding just a touch of pressure when Merlin’s eyes dilate and contract again.

“You’re nothing but talk,” Merlin says, digging his fingers into Arthur’s shoulders. He lifts his hips to press his erection against Arthur’s stomach. He hisses out a breath as he leaves wet streaks along Arthur’s hip.

“Are you hard for me, Emrys? I bet you can’t even get it up unless you’re thinking of me.” Arthur takes Merlin’s cock in his hand, stroking him roughly. He traces his fingertips along Merlin’s length, and with the ease of long practise, flicks the head with his finger and thumb to leave Merlin moaning.

“You think you’re good?” Merlin gasps out. He trails his hand down toward Arthur’s cock, sliding his fingers along it possessively and giving it a slight tug, just enough to make Arthur arch his back. “This, Pendragon, this is mine,” Merlin continues. “You won’t get it as good as you get it with me, and you know it. That’s why it makes you so fucking crazy. Your cock knows it, even if your brain doesn’t.”

Arthur shudders, not admitting it but not denying it either as he takes out a condom from his nightstand. The words spill from his throat in a rush. “Yeah? You like it when I fuck you. When I’m not there anymore, even if you’re with someone else on your back or lying on your stomach or any other way, and you’ll try to get away from it, but you won’t be able to. You’ll still feel it, feel me in you, filling you up even when I'm not there,” he says, slowing his pace just long enough to slide the condom on. His fingers glide downward, letting Merlin feel every touch of his fingers as they stretch him, twisting them together as Merlin twitches his hips higher.

“Bastard,” Merlin groans, hooking a leg around Arthur’s waist, bringing them closer together. Arthur slides easily into him, biting his lip as he pushes in all the way and begins to move.

“And you’ll remember how it felt to have me in you, feel the ache inside you where I was,” Arthur breathes out, falling into a steady rhythm. “And you’ll remember and you’ll get hard only thinking about me. You’ll wrap your fingers around yourself, maybe even press a couple of fingers inside, but you won’t be able to come because it’s not it’s not my fingers around your cock, it’s not my tongue in your arse, it’s not me fucking you.”

“Harder,” Merlin says, panting in short, harsh breaths. Merlin’s eyes are shut tightly, his eyelids fluttering, and Arthur knows the signs of when Merlin’s on the brink, when it’s time to push him harder.

“And you’ll pull and pull at your cock, your balls, trying everything you can, but you won’t be able to come unless—unless it’s me inside you. _That’s_ how hard I’ll fuck you,” Arthur gasps out.

Merlin comes, moaning and shaking, his body arching up, and Arthur follows him, riding the waves of Merlin’s orgasm until they melt with his own, shaking so hard he feels like he’s going to fly apart. He collapses, panting, next to Merlin who is staring at him dazedly, eyes wild. Arthur can’t manage to keep his own eyelids open and slips into sleep with Merlin beside him.

***

Merlin is gone before Arthur wakes up. Arthur stares at the alarm clock, the red numbers blinking away the seconds, trying to remember the last time Merlin didn’t stay long enough to for Arthur to wake him up. He gives up after thirty seconds and gets out of bed. It takes him half the effort and twice the time to get ready for work that morning.

The sound of rapid mouse clicking and Merlin’s voice are the first things that Arthur hears when he arrives at the office. Arthur pauses in front of Merlin’s cubicle, but Merlin doesn’t tear his eyes away from his monitors—Merlin insisted on three separate ones when he started, to which Arthur grudgingly agreed—for a moment, and continues speaking into his headset loudly to what Arthur gathers is a supplier. Merlin doesn’t acknowledge him at all.

“I need you to set up the Morgana Le Fay call this afternoon in the meeting room,” Arthur says to him in an undertone.

Merlin ignores him, and Arthur simply leaves it at that. He buries himself in his work, even going so far as to close his office door—and Arthur always insists on an open door policy with his employees—to drown out Merlin’s voice. He sends Merlin an email, copying Leon as well, to remind him to set up the videoconference with Morgana. There’s no reply.

After lunch, Leon briefs him once more on the call, as they walk together into the empty meeting room, the lights off, and the videoscreen alarmingly blank.

“Emrys!” Arthur says, raising his voice.

“Yes?” Merlin is at his side in a moment, barely managing to avoid tripping over a wire taped to the ground.

Arthur whirls on him. “I asked you to set up the call. When I ask you to do something—”

Merlin calmly pushes a button on the complicated hub, and Morgana’s face appears on screen, her assistant Mithian in the background. Arthur can see the word “MUTE” on screen. His finger hovering over the button, Merlin raises his eyes to meet Arthur’s. He looks at him for a long moment. “If you don’t like the way I do things, then don’t ask me to do them,” Merlin says slowly, and presses the button to unmute the call. He turns and leaves the meeting room.

There’s nothing Arthur can say to answer him.

***

Arthur spends the rest of the afternoon arguing with Morgana. When the call escalates to personal attacks and petty remarks, he sends Leon home early. It’s late when Arthur finally rings off. He knows he looks a rumpled mess, his tie askew and his hair mussed, but he’s too tired to care. He barely remembers to lock his office door once he’s filed his notes on the call.

Merlin is still at his cubicle when Arthur passes by on his way to the lift. The overhead lights are shut off, and Merlin’s face is glowing eerily blue in the light of his monitor. He makes no movement when Arthur hesitates for a fraction of a second outside his cubicle. Arthur doesn’t offer; Merlin doesn’t ask.

Arthur eats takeaway that night for dinner, and when he can’t stand the quiet any longer, he turns on the telly for some company. He dozes fitfully on the sofa, and finally makes it to bed after midnight on a weeknight. Despite his exhaustion, Arthur punches at his pillow and tosses and turns the whole night.

The next day, Arthur needs three cups of coffee to function normally before he even gets to the office. When he finally arrives, twenty minutes late, he sees Merlin pale and silent at his cubicle, dark circles under his eyes.

Arthur turns away, pulling his tie a bit tighter and smoothing it out flat.

***

It’s nothing to him when Arthur calls up Gwaine that night, not after Merlin almost dared him to do it. Gwaine has a mouth on him that Arthur likes, and enough snark in him to make the pillowtalk afterward interesting.

“Haven’t heard from you in a long time, Arthur,” Gwaine says, voice gravelly and sonorous. His eyes slide up and down Arthur’s body appreciatively, but somehow Arthur doesn’t respond to the heat in Gwaine’s eyes.

“Been busy,” Arthur says, shucking his trousers off and peeling Gwaine’s shirt away. Movement usually helps. Gwaine grins at him and settles comfortably onto his knees and gets to work.

It’s good, Gwaine’s always good, but Arthur can’t even get hard. Arthur slides his hands into Gwaine’s hair, urging him on, but nothing happens.

“What’s wrong?” Gwaine asks, pulling away after several determined minutes.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Arthur kisses Gwaine to stop him from asking any more questions. They move to the bed, but something still isn’t right. Gwaine’s beard, maybe, or his blunt fingers.

“Arthur,” Gwaine says, and there’s a hesitation in his voice that Arthur doesn’t like.

“Are you not as good as I remember?” Arthur asks, trying to tease and lighten the mood, but the words fall flat and come out ugly.

Silence. “When was the last time you got laid?” Gwaine asks after a long moment.

“A couple of nights ago, so if you dare say anything—” Arthur says, but stops when he sees Gwaine plucks a few short, dark hairs from the pillows contemplatively.

“A couple of nights ago,” Gwaine repeats. “And the last I heard from you was what, six months ago? How many people have you been fucking since then?”

Arthur swallows.

“Just the one, then,” Gwaine says. He gets up from the bed. “Sorry, Arthur, I can’t help you with that.”

He kisses Arthur on the mouth, a kind of parting caress, and closes the door so quietly on the way out that Arthur doesn’t hear him leave. Arthur is left alone in his bed, realising he didn’t change the sheets from that last night with Merlin, and can’t find it in himself to do it now.

***

Merlin isn’t at his desk the next morning. His monitors are still humming with electricity, and Arthur frowns because it’s unlike Merlin to not turn them off at night. Arthur steps away from Merlin’s desk as Leon comes in, and pretends it doesn’t bother him. Gwen and Elena trickle in later on, but Merlin still hasn’t shown up.

“Any word from Merlin?” Arthur asks Gwen, after his fifth casual stroll by Merlin’s cubicle.

“I haven’t heard from him,” Gwen says, biting her lip in worry as she peeks her head over her cubicle. Her glances flicks to Arthur and back to Merlin’s empty seat. There’s a question in her voice that Arthur doesn’t want to answer, so he nods to her and goes to get another cup of coffee.

Merlin blearily stumbles in an hour and a half later. Arthur is at his cubicle before Merlin manages to sink into his chair with a relieved air.

“You’re late,” Arthur says, relief at Merlin finally arriving making him sharp. “Show up on time or don’t show up at all.”

Merlin looks at him as though he’s not even aware of what’s in front of him. “It won’t happen again,” Merlin says hollowly, and Arthur wonders who Merlin fucked last night to look like that this morning.

***

Arthur gets home early that night, no dinner to pay for, no drinks to pour, no one he can invite over without embarrassing himself again. He turns on his laptop, mindlessly clicking, and on his hundredth and seventeenth round of solitaire, Arthur gets a phone call. CAMELOT SECURITY is displayed on the caller ID. Arthur snaps up the phone. “What’s wrong?” he says at once.

It’s Lancelot, head of overnight building security. “Sorry to bother you so late, Arthur, but there’s a bit of a problem,” he says, sounding both professional and apologetic.

“I’m on my way,” Arthur says, grabbing his car keys. He doesn’t realise he’s forgotten his coat until he’s halfway there.

It’s after midnight and Lancelot is waiting at the lift to Arthur’s floor. “We thought it best to come to you,” he says.

“What’s the problem?” Arthur asks, and Lancelot nods to the corner, where Merlin is dozing fitfully, still dressed in that day’s clothes.

“We found him passed out on his desk during our rounds,” Lancelot tells him in an undertone. “We know he’s an employee, but he doesn’t have twenty-four hour access. He can’t stay overnight.”

Arthur’s throat works soundlessly. “He’s been sleeping here?”

“I found him here two nights ago, asleep. When I woke him up, he said he was working on a report, but there was just a blank screen on his monitors. I sent him home last night in a cab,” Lancelot says, and his voice sounds torn, his need for loyalty to both Arthur and Merlin is evident in his voice.

“This happened before and you didn’t tell me?” Arthur’s voice is rising in alarm and anger both.

“He promised it was only once,” Lancelot says quietly. “He didn’t want you to find out.”

Arthur stays silent, and Lancelot must be misinterpreting it, because he quickly adds, “He’s a good one, you know.”

“I know,” Arthur says, sighing. “Thanks, Lancelot. I’ll take him home.”

Lancelot nods, murmurs something into his headset, and strides away, leaving him alone with Merlin.

“Emrys,” Arthur says, and shakes Merlin awake gently. “Are you all right?”

Merlin stirs, mumbling something. He lifts his head, squinting at him. “Can’t sleep,” he says morosely, and his head dips back down in slumber.

“Idiot,” Arthur says. Merlin is pliant when sleepy, as he well knows, and doesn’t complain or protest when Arthur slings an arm around him. They walk to the lift, Arthur supporting most of his weight, and down to the car park where Arthur’s car is waiting. He pours Merlin into the passenger seat, buckling him in firmly. Merlin murmurs a bit in his sleep, his head resting against the window.

Arthur thinks about driving home to his flat and dumping Merlin onto the mattress, but then he thinks of the next day, how he’ll wake up next to Merlin and hear him leave. Merlin always leaves. He’s never stayed, not the first night they started this, not the next, or the day after that. Arthur has never allowed himself to wonder what would happen if Merlin stayed over properly, or how they would manage arriving at the office together in the morning. They’ve never given themselves a chance to find out, Arthur realises, and maybe that chance is all Merlin wanted but Arthur was too afraid to give.

Instead, Arthur fishes around Merlin’s pockets for his wallet, opening it to see a picture of Merlin and a woman with Merlin’s kind eyes laughing together, a candid shot from a summer day. Arthur digs around for Merlin’s driver’s licence—expired, the idiot—and notes Merlin’s address is about twenty minutes away. Merlin must take the tube, and Arthur wonders at how he never knew that, and at how he could have known all this time if he let himself pay more attention.

Arthur takes the roads slowly, the streets never quite quiet even after midnight. He reaches Merlin’s address, the kind of tower block where families with little children grow up and where scruffy trees and bright flowers line the yard. He manages to find a spot to park his car, and hauls Merlin, still mostly asleep, out from his seat. Merlin’s arms automatically wrap around Arthur’s chest, and his head tips forward, resting on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur sways a little, resting his hands on Merlin’s waist.

“Come on, let’s get you home,” Arthur says, and feels Merlin nod sleepily against him.

Somehow they make it from the lift to the fourth floor, and Arthur has moment of worry, wondering if Merlin’s address is outdated as his licence. Steeling himself, Arthur fishes in Merlin’s pockets again for his keys, stops in front of flat number 402, and gives a perfunctory knock. There’s no answer. Merlin has a dozen keys on his key ring, and it takes Arthur several tries to find the right one until the door finally opens. He turns on the overhead light. There’s no notice of unpaid rent, no sign of hastily packed belongings, or anything to suggest that Merlin doesn’t still live here. Still, Arthur pauses for a moment in the doorway, and he’s relieved that they aren’t mistaken for intruders and greeted by Merlin’s mum brandishing a pot of some sort.

Merlin’s flat is a cluttered mess, books scattered along all available surfaces, bits of electronic paraphernalia and wires strewn about randomly next to instruction manuals and screwdrivers or other tools. Arthur picks his way through the flat, careful not to disturb anything, and navigates his way to Merlin’s bedroom, where he places Merlin on the bed, stomach-first.

Merlin’s eyelids flutter open. “What?” he says, looking around confusedly. He sits up. “Arthur?” he says, sounding bewildered. He looks at Arthur and then around his bedroom with a baffled expression, like he can’t put the two of them together.

“Yeah,” Arthur says, and pauses awkwardly in the bedroom. “I’ll put the kettle on,” Arthur says, leaving Merlin to collect himself. He rummages around the kitchen and manages to find the kettle and the tea bags. He clatters around noisily, making sure Merlin can hear where he is. Once the water’s boiled, he pours a mug and brings it back to the bedroom, where Merlin is sitting on the bed, arms wrapped around his knees. He gets up when Arthur comes in, and quickly sits down on the bed again, nervous tension emanating from him.

“Here,” Arthur says, handing him the mug.

“Thanks.” Merlin takes it from him but doesn’t take a sip, instead staring down at it intensely.

Arthur clears a space on the floor and sits down cross-legged. “Why were you sleeping at the office overnight?”

Merlin looks away and doesn’t answer. Arthur is perfectly willing to wait him out, and Merlin seems to sense it. “I couldn’t sleep here,” he finally says after a long pause.

A thousand scenarios flash through Arthur’s mind. “If—if you’re having difficulty with the rent, I can make arrangements to help you with that,” Arthur says hesitantly, grabbing onto one possibility he has an answer to.

Merlin looks at him for a long moment. “I hate it when you do that.”

Arthur blinks a few times. “Do what?”

“That!” Merlin gestures in the air with a hand. “That thing where you stop being an arse and act like a caring human being for once, and make me forget how much—” he says, stopping abruptly.

“How much you hate me,” Arthur finishes for him. He’s reminded of that fact every time Merlin looks at him.

“No. No, it’s not that, not really. It’s just—I’ve been telling myself that each time was the last time, but it never was,” Merlin says, rubbing at his eyes. “Each time it was supposed to be the last, and it would be the end for a bit, but then you’d show some kindness to someone and I’d—well. Last time, I told myself I was done with you for good. Even if it killed me, I was done. But it looks like death might win out in the end.” He laughs humourlessly.

Arthur lets himself say the words he could never bring himself to say out loud before. “It was wrong of me to ask you in the first place. I had no right to do so.” He can’t take his words back once they’ve been said.

Merlin’s eyes are wide open and shocked. “Is that what you think? That I did it because you _made_ me? All those times?”

“I’m your boss, Emrys,” Arthur says. There’s nothing more or less to say.

Merlin holds his head in his hands, shutting his eyes tightly. “For fuck’s sake, Arthur, it’s not because you’re my boss.”

“Why, then?” Arthur doesn’t think, doesn’t hope, just waits for Merlin to speak.

“I could work anywhere, you know. I’m bloody brilliant at what I do—not that you’d ever know that—but I’m here in an underpaid job doing menial tasks because I want to be. Your father, he’s the one who hired me, not you,” Merlin says. He stares determinedly at the floor.

Arthur closes his eyes, exhaustion catching up with him. “My father taught me everything I know. He can be a hard man, but there’s a reason why he’s successful at what he does. He trusts me to do my part here, but I can’t even follow the first rule: don’t screw your own employees.”

“You’re not your father, Arthur,” Merlin says firmly.

“You’re right about that. He never went around fucking his employees. I’ve always been such a disappointment to him,” Arthur says, blowing out a disgusted breath.

“How many have you—?” Merlin asks, looking up, a note of uncertainty creeping into his voice.

Arthur pauses—Merlin’s question echoes Gwaine’s—and shakes his head. “Only you. It’s always only been you,” he says, and very carefully doesn’t look up to see Merlin’s reaction. “And as much as I want it, as much as you tell me you want it, we can’t. We _can’t_. You deserve better. Someone who isn’t your boss.”

“You act like I didn’t have a choice in this,” Merlin says, his voice quiet but firm. “Like this is something all on you, and you get to make all the decisions. This _is_ a choice for me. Even if it wasn’t, I’d still choose you. I think that’s what’s killing me.” He sinks down onto his mattress as if it takes everything out of him to admit it.

Arthur struggles with Merlin’s words, trying to trying to shape some sort of sense out of what they could mean for the both of them. “I can’t,” Arthur finally says, trying to keep the anguish from his voice. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I couldn’t live with myself if we ever tried to make it work, and I’d always wonder, thinking if I had—” Arthur stops himself from saying anything more. “I know you’ve made your choice, but I can’t do this the way we are. The way _I_ am.” 

Merlin looks at him wordlessly, his face drawn and haggard.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says softly. “We’re done here.” 

“We’re done here,” Merlin repeats, and takes a deep breath. “Thank you for seeing me home. I’d like to go to sleep now,” he says, and Arthur starts at the sudden change in subject.

“Right. You can have the day off tomorrow, catch up on your sleep,” Arthur says, stumbling blindly to his feet. He scrubs a hand across his face. “Goodnight.”

He sees himself out and makes it home, barely remembering the drive back. Something about Merlin always keeps Arthur off-kilter, feeling as if he’s standing on quicksand and like there’s nothing for Arthur to hold onto to keep from sinking except Merlin himself.

***

“You’re leaving,” Arthur says, shock weighing him down in his chair. He stares at the paper in his hand. “I said you could have the day off,” he adds inanely.

“I’m putting in for a transfer,” Merlin says, hovering over Arthur’s desk, eyes overbright. “Effective immediately.”

“To Morgana’s branch?” Arthur stares up at Merlin and can’t hold his gaze. He turns it back to Merlin’s resignation letter.

“I don’t have any reason to stay,” Merlin says gently.

“No, I suppose not,” Arthur says through the tightening of his throat. He signs his approval quickly.

“Thank you,” Merlin says quietly, and walks out of Arthur’s office for the last time.

Two weeks of sleepless nights later, Morgana rings Arthur again. Her voice is much cheerier than he’s ever heard it.

“Really, Arthur, where have you been hiding him all this time? He’s brilliant. I can’t believe you’ve had him on tech support this whole time. You don’t have any idea what he can do with our code, do you?” Morgana says, sounding smug.

“Glad to oblige,” Arthur says mechanically. He hasn’t replaced Merlin’s position yet, and neither Gwen or Elena have forgiven him for letting Merlin go. Arthur suspects Leon hasn’t, either, although he’s much too loyal to say so.

“It must be quite a commute for him, though. Two hours by train. Of course, I’d much prefer him closer to our office. He’s amazing. Isn’t there anything you can do to entice him to move?” Morgana’s tone is just shy of wheedling, and Arthur is a little shocked and a little jealous that she likes him that much. Then her words filter through his sleep-deprived brain.

“He’s still in town?” Arthur glances over to Merlin’s empty cubicle, a habit he hasn’t broken himself of yet either.

“I’ve asked him to move, offered him moving expenses, even, but he won’t budge,” Morgana sighs. “Do you know where he lives? It must be something special he’s not willing to give up.”

“I know where he lives,” Arthur says quietly.

***

Arthur stops outside Merlin’s flat, hand wavering in the air. He’s not sure what he’s doing here or what he’s expecting, but he knocks on the door, heart pounding. He hears some shuffling from inside, and he realises it must be later than he thinks. The door opens to reveal Merlin in a t-shirt and a pair of plaid pyjama pants, hair mussed and pillow creases on his face.

“Arthur,” he says, surprised. His face breaks out into a sleepy smile.

“Merlin,” Arthur says hoarsely, reaching out to grasp Merlin’s arm. He’s warm to the touch. Arthur looks into the flat to see the sofa made up as a bed, pillow and sheets rumpled.

Following his gaze, Merlin rubs the back of his neck, looking a bit sheepish. “I wasn’t getting any sleep in the bed, so I had to crash on the sofa,” he says, and turns a little bit redder.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Arthur is stumbling into the flat and onto the sofa. It’s soft and plush, and still warm from where Merlin had curled into it—it’s _still warm_ from where Merlin slept—and Arthur loses his head a bit when he rolls Merlin above him so that he’s surrounded by his warmth. “Can I kiss you, then?” he asks Merlin in a rush.

Merlin breathes out a snort of laughter. “Yeah. Yeah, all right,” he says, and pulls Arthur into a kiss. Merlin’s mouth is warm and firm against his, fingers threading through Arthur’s hair to hold him steady.

“Wait, I—I came here to give you this,” Arthur says, breaking away reluctantly. He reaches into his pocket and presses the key to his flat into Merlin’s hand.

Merlin’s fingers close around it, and he looks at it, puzzled, before his expression clears. “Oh,” he says softly, only one syllable, but Arthur doesn’t need to a hear anything more.

“I only made one copy, so you’d better not lose it,” Arthur warns, trying to hide his smile but knowing Merlin can see it anyway..

“I won’t,” Merlin promises, laughing, and draws them down together to the sofa.

“It’s just temporary,” Arthur tells him, and Merlin’s face falls. “I mean,” Arthur amends quickly, “I was thinking maybe we could find a place together, closer to your work.”

“But farther from yours,” Merlin points out, and his face looks cautious and hopeful and happy. Arthur grabs onto that look, tucking it away for later.

“I could work from home some days,” Arthur says. “Leon practically runs the place without me, and Gwen and Elena do much better when I’m not around to breathe down their necks.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “You’re an excellent boss,” he says, lips quirking into a smile. “Just not as mine.”

Arthur laughs. “You’re right about that. And we’d—well, we’d have to sign a company disclaimer form, detailing our relationship to my father and the rest of the heads, even though we work at different offices. That is,” Arthur says nervously, as Merlin’s eyes widen, “if you want to.”

“I want to,” Merlin says, and takes Arthur’s hand in his own.


End file.
